


our bodies, possessed by light

by gingersprite



Series: stronger for having been broken [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castration, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/pseuds/gingersprite
Summary: The only thing worse than being apart from Theon, as Sansa had just discovered, was being within inches of him and not being able to touch.





	our bodies, possessed by light

**Author's Note:**

> Theonsa week day six, prompt: "touch" (although if we're being fair, it kinda crosses over into day seven's prompt at times)
> 
> This is sort of a spiritual sequel to my last smut fic, "[there is rapture in this lonely shore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19997020)", and makes a few references to that, but is not required reading.

The only thing worse than being apart from Theon, as Sansa had just discovered, was being within inches of him and not being able to touch. In the months that he’d been away, his absence had been an ache akin to a phantom limb; the loss of him was made even worse by the knowledge that she was the one who sent him away. Not out of anger, never that; out of duty.

In the years since Daenerys had taken control of the Five Kingdoms, something had been building in Dorne. The Martells had held their tongues while the North and the Iron Islands were granted their independence, but Sansa knew they wouldn’t be content to be ruled by a Targaryen for long. In a way, Sansa supposed she admired Arianne Martell, much in the same way that she’d found herself drawn to Margaery: both women of extraordinary beauty, who wielded their smiles like weapons. A woman like Arianne would never sit back and let a conquering queen dictate her future, especially not the sister of the man who betrayed Elia Martell.

Daenerys had now born two children by Jon- both daughters, and technically bastards, though none dared say that to her face- yet her reign was barely any more stable than it had been since she took the throne. The civil unrest in the South only fueled rumors that the Martells had begun amassing allies in preparation to secede. It was more than that, though: whispers had begun that claimed there was a challenger to the throne, a secret Targaryen prince, who had been biding his time waiting to reclaim his birthright. Whether they held any water had yet to be determined, but any rumor had the potential to unseat a ruler, no matter how baseless it was.

Sansa had held fast to her decision not to involve the North in this conflict, refusing to take either side. Even so, they couldn’t afford to let their relations with Dorne sour, so Theon had gone to Sunspear as an emissary for the Queen in the North. He’d accepted the assignment readily, even happily; the chance to captain a ship down the Narrow Sea and into the Summer Sea was nearly impossible for any Ironborn to turn down, especially now that Thom was able to go with him.

She had certainly had her hands full with running a kingdom, not to mention with Lanny and baby Robb, but Sansa had thought she’d been managing their separation alright. It wasn’t until she finally laid eyes on Theon that she realized how lonely she’d been without him, especially at night.

Now he’d come home to her, and she could kiss him and hold him tight, but she wasn’t yet free to touch him in all the ways she’d longed for. Alannys and Robb needed his touch more just then, both of them still too young to have fully understood his absence; while he cuddled and kissed their babes, Sansa welcomed Thom back with a long embrace, marveling at how much the boy seemed to have grown since she saw him last. His sandy curls still smelled like saltwater when she kissed his head.

They scarcely had time for this quick reunion before both of them were caught up in small council meetings, the hours flying by as they poured over accounts and trade deals. Once they were finally able to break, day had turned to night and the children had been sent off to bed, along with most of the castle. Sansa dismissed her advisors graciously, sharing pleasantries with her guards, and all around doing an excellent job of pretending like she didn’t want to jump Theon right in the throne room.

She kept it together long enough for them to make it up to their chambers, before she pulled him to her and drew him into a deep, thoroughly shameless kiss. Their breaths came hot and harried as they traded furious kisses, hands groping each other as if they could be welded into one being if only they tried hard enough.

Theon licked his way into her mouth, tasting the honeyed flavor of the weak mead she’d drunk, and let her explore the inside of his mouth in return. He went to wind his hands through her beautiful hair, only to remember he was still wearing his gloves; he pulled away just enough to remove them, letting them drop to the floor in his eagerness to feel those locks slip through his fingers.

Sansa had already gotten his breeches unlaced, and backed them up so she was pressed against their chamber wall. She pulled her layers of skirts aside and hiked one leg up around his waist, both to hold him closer to her and allow him better access. One hand was still woven through her hair, while the other struggled to make its way inside her damp underthings.

“Gods, you’re so wet,” Theon groaned in between furious kisses.

“I can’t believe I made it through that entire damn meeting,” Sansa gasped. “Seeing you there, looking so strong and golden, and not being able to do anything about it…”

“I know, love, I’m here,” he soothed. “Now, how do you want me?”

“I want, I want-” she stuttered, as her mind raced through all the ways she needed him to touch her, all the lonely nights she was desperate to make up for. “I want your cock inside me.”

“Oh?” Theon murmured, some of the playfulness in his expression slipping away to make room for a serious look. What she was asking for wasn’t something they’d done often, but so long as she was in the right headspace for it he was more than willing.

“_Please,_” she hissed, bucking her hips against his hand. “Please, Theon, I want to feel you in me, deep inside.”

He stumbled back, nearly toppling and dragging her down with him in his haste to get them to the bed; he’d forgotten Sansa had already undone his breeches, leaving them to pool around his ankles. Sansa burst out laughing, loud and rich and unladylike; gods, how he’d missed that sound. She helped free him from his tangled breeches, and the two of them continued stripping as they went.

Theon turned away just for a moment to root around in the bedside drawer for the tool, looking back just in time to see her drop her smallclothes at her feet. The smoldering coals in the hearth lit her up from behind, red and gold highlighting her curves. Sansa moved toward him with slow, deliberate steps; he saw the wolf behind her eyes, and eagerly awaited being devoured.

She relieved him of his shirt and braies, while his own hands were still fiddling with the pleasure tool’s straps. He was about to put it on, when she stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Wait,” she said, and guided him back until the backs of his calves hit the edge of the bed and he sat down. She moved his arms until he was leaned back on his elbows, the tool still gripped in one hand, and with gentle hands on his knees spread his legs. There was a vial of oil they often used for these purposes, but instead she dipped her fingers into her own wetness, pressing her slick knuckles against his taint.

Theon didn’t dare look away as she kissed her way down his body, hovering just a moment over his scarred mound before laving her tongue against his prick. She swirled her tongue in steady strokes, kneading at the space above his hole, allowing a finger to tease the rim. He let his head fall back, eyes half-mast, gasping as his hips twitched up into her mouth.

Sansa kept up her ministrations a few moment longer, then pulled away before he peaked. Theon whined at the loss, and she smirked as she uncurled his fingers from around the tool. The buckles could be difficult for Theon to adjust with the damage done to his hands, but they’d been left loose from the last time they used the tool. Sansa fumbled with the straps a bit, then coaxed his hips to lift just high enough so she could slide the straps around and secure the tool in place.

Planting a knee on either side of his hips, she climbed up onto his lap, adjusted him to her liking, then sank down. Theon watched as she took it inside of her, the muscles in her thighs clenching as she lowered, not relaxing until she settled against him. Her chest rose as she panted, high and breathy, hips twitching against his pelvis. A strand of hair had come loose from her plait and got caught in the corner of her mouth; he pushed up enough to remove it and her hands flew to his shoulders, pulling him in closer.

Theon gripped her ass and gave a tentative thrust up into her, making the smooth base of the tool cup his prick and rub against it; he had no way of knowing how she felt inside, but judging by the way she mewled and bounced harder on his lap, it was doing something for her. Sansa threw back her head as she rocked against him, and he pressed kisses against the hollow of her throat, along her collarbone, between her breasts. He laved his tongue over one breast, her nipples raised with pleasure, taking one into his mouth and giving the tight bud the slightest graze of his teeth.

Sansa ground down, the dual sensations of the tool inside her and the stimulation to her clit flooding her senses. With Theon working diligently at her breasts, it was only a matter of time until she felt her peak build deep in her center, crashing through her like waves on the shore. She rocked herself through it, keeping the tool rubbing against Theon until he tensed and shuddered and reached his own peak. 

Their panting slowed to steady, breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. Cupping his head in her hands, Sansa drew his lips to hers.

“I’ve missed you,” she sighed into his mouth.

“Maybe I should go away more often, if this is the welcome home I get,” Theon chuckled; if the way her grip on his hair tightened was any indication, Sansa wasn’t amused.

“Please don’t,” she whimpered. “I, I… I missed you so much. I don’t know what-” Theon cut her off with a soft hush before the tremble in her voice could worsen.

“I’m here, Sans,” he whispered. “Feel me, I’m right here. I’ve got you.” She softened a little at that, but still clung to him tightly, a hitch in her breath. 

“C’mon, up,” Theon said as he lifted her off his lap, the tool slipping out, and laid her down on the bed. Sansa sniffled, but gave a tentative smile when he curled into her side.

“I love you,” he murmured, his head tucked in the crook of her neck.

“I love you too,” Sansa said, tracing a finger along his jaw. “I also really, really like your cock.”

“Thanks, I bought it myself,” he said with a laugh. “You’re more than welcome to make use of it on your own, you know where we keep it.”

“Not the same.”

He swept his palm gently up and down her flank, her skin still flushed and slightly sweaty.

“I will always come back to you. You and the little ones,” Theon swore.

“You can’t promise something like that,” Sansa replied sadly.

“I can, and I will,” he argued. “Because _you_ are my home.”

His assurances meant the world to her, even though she wasn’t sure how much she believed him. She trusted his intentions, of course, but such things were no guarantee. Even so, it helped to know that Theon would fight against all odds to come back to her, wherever he went; and she would walk through all seven hells to bring him home.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Richard Siken's poem, "Scheherazade".


End file.
